


the life that you now have (Minimegs Week 2020)

by Evedawalrus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: War for Cybertron Trilogy (Cartoon)
Genre: ;), Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Crossover Pairings, Drabble Collection, Dreams and Nightmares, Fever Dreams, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Megatron is hot okay, MiniMegs Week 2020, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pin-Up, Pining, Prompt Fic, Suggestive Themes, This ship just has a lot of sads, Transformer Sparklings, You Are Not Immune To Propaganda, ghost au, i'll think of a better title later, just in one or two chapters, sorry y'all, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evedawalrus/pseuds/Evedawalrus
Summary: A collection of fics for Minimegs Week 2020! From emotional turmoil to ghosts to stupid sexy Megatron, I had a lot of fun writing these this year! Hope you enjoy them too!Day 1: Hope/Regret – Minimus has a conversation with Dominus in the Afterspark.Day 2: Peace/Disorder – Minimus discovers some contraband in an old storage room.Day 3: Betrayal/Loyalty – In the Functionist Universe, Megatron falls into a fitful sleep.Day 4: Holidays/Vacations - Minimus and Megatron go on a double-date.Day 5: Intimacy/Vulnerability – Megatron finds himself-.... vulnerable.Day 6: AU/FU – WFC Magnus dies by the hand of one he might have loved, a long time ago. He deserves a second chance.BONUS CHAPTER!Day 7: Free Prompt – WFC Megatron is alone.
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus, Megatron/Ultra Magnus
Comments: 19
Kudos: 59
Collections: Minimegs Week 2020





	1. the universe doesn't like giving minimus emotional closure

**Author's Note:**

> For the first day's prompt: Hope/Regret! 
> 
> Poor Minimus. Maybe after the series is over he can book some appointments with Rung. Oh wait-

He wouldn’t lie to say it didn’t hurt. He was even thinking in contractions now, which showed how badly his behavior had been affected – and he was very careful to say  _ behavior _ , because he himself could not be compromised. Even if he had to append “former” to his nameplate and office window, he still retained many of the qualities of the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, one of which was quite vitally his unbiased character. One could not enforce the law in a just and equitable manner if one was swayed by every endearing individual or sob story, after all.

And if perhaps Ultra Magnus had been somewhat unduly influenced by a certain person’s disappearance, that is to say, departure, or maybe abandonment, or even betrayal if he was really trying to be specific, not that he needed to be because even if he wrote up a report on the whole thing, who would he even submit it to or  _ care _ – well. 

He had put that unexpected hindrance to his duties behind him, and thus there was no reason to dwell on it any longer. Mostly. 

Mostly, because there was something about the Afterspark that made him feel oddly… sensitive. Though that could just have been the joyful ache of seeing his brother again.

Dominus- Dominus without his armor, as he was originally forged, standing in front of him, had just told him he was  _ proud _ of him. And it almost hurt for a moment – before his spark felt just a bit lighter, somehow. Even through the armor, which had always imperceptibly weighed on his shoulders, he could swear his feet might just have hovered above the ground. 

But then he came back down. 

He looked with confusion to Dominus, who just smiled sadly at him. “I- I don’t understand.” 

(And it was so like him – not understanding, not knowing better, looking to Dominus to show him how).

Dominus put a hand on his arm. “Brother – is there something you’re still holding onto?”   


Magnus frowned (taking a moment to decide Dominus meant his question metaphorically and not literally – that wouldn’t make much sense). “Well…” he searched through his memory, “it could be Terms of Peace. It’s- well, I left it unfinished. Even if I were to try to work on it here, I…” He cast his gaze over the open expanse of the Afterspark. “I don’t believe it would be much use.” 

Dominus sighed, shaking his head at him in that irritating, ‘wrong answer, brother’ way he always did. Magnus resisted the siblingly urge to smack him.

“Minimus… I think we both know that’s not it. What else is plaguing your thoughts? Any words, regrets –  _ people? _ ” Dominus gave him a meaningful look. 

Magnus shifted on his feet, crossing his arms. “I…. I apologize, but I have no idea what you mean.” 

Dominus sighed again, but any annoyed reaction Magnus would have had was quelled by the remarkably sorrowful look his brother leveled him with. “ _ Minimus _ ,” he said, “I want you to know – this is the Afterspark. There is no punishment, no guilt, no judgement; only the truth, and what remains after it-” he turned his gaze to where Chromedome kneeled embracing – and Magnus had to reboot his optics just to be sure they were functioning correctly –  _ two  _ Rewinds. “-Love.” 

“Brother, no matter how you view your feelings… you can’t keep them locked away forever.” Dominus cracked a fanged grin. “Picture me as that orange therapist fellow, if that would help.”

Magnus-  _ Minimus _ stared down at his brother for a long moment, then glanced side to side. “I…” he clutched his forearm, once again feeling that telltale stiffness in the armor. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.” 

Dominus just smiled at him. “Minimus, did you forget? I’ve seen all the fantastic things you’ve accomplished over your quest. You can do  _ anything _ .” 

Minimus swallowed. He took a deep breath.

Then, for the first time in a  _ long _ time, he started talking about his emotions. 

“I hate Megatron. I do, I know I do, as whenever I think of him my internals start to feel as if they’re twisted up, which obviously is not physically possible but the sensation is more reflective of my negatively-centered feelings, and as such I think it’s plainly clear that I resent him and all he stands for. Not to mention I’ve been using far too many contractions in my speech, which normally would be a grievous error for myself.” 

Minimus tapped the side of his head as he started to pace. “The armor – it retains an itemized list of all offenses, both major and minor and sorted by date, severity, and which planet’s laws were broken, not to mention the separation from war crimes, though to be honest being in a constant state of war for four million years has statistically caused most crimes to constitute as ‘war crimes’ – and so I have a, a  _ constant _ reminder of every offense Megatron has ever committed, going all the way back to an arrest for involvement in a bar fight that he was later proven innocent of. However, every infraction, every protocol, murder, torture, breach of ethics, execution, no quarter given, weapon of mass destruction, massacre, tragedy, biological weapon, outrage upon personal dignity, prisoner of war, siege, even those killings of the previous bearers of the armor – they’re all there, and he is innocent of  _ none _ .”

He paused in his tense pacing, glancing to Dominus – but he didn’t speak up to stop him or tell him to calm down. He only gave Minimus an expectant look.

Minimus took a breath to gather his thoughts and continued. “I fully expected him to continue his record of rebellion and violence after Optimus Prime instituted him as co-captain of the  _ Lost Light _ , and in some ways he did fulfill my expectations.” His nose wrinkled as he remembered Megatron taunting him from the captain’s chair, a sly grin on his face like he was almost delighted in seeing Magnus frustrated. “However, he… well. I had asked him to meet with me so he could begin the process of learning the Autobot Code, but-...”

_ “There will be no need for that, I think.”  _

_ Magnus blinked. “I’m sorry?” _

_ “I said,” Megatron rested his chin on one fist, not having looked up from the datapad he was reading, “there’ll be no need. I already know it fine.” _

_ “It’s a requirement of becoming an Autobot, you can’t just skip- wait. What?” _

_ Megatron tilted his head towards Magnus. “I’ve read it. You could quiz me on it if you’d like to waste your time, but I would think my second-in-command has more important duties to perform.” _

_ Magnus had been so stunned he hadn’t said a word, just stiffly nodded and walked away. It wasn’t til later he realized the reason Rodimus had been giving him an odd look all day was because he hadn’t been frowning. This might be unremarkable for any other, but for the stern enforcer, displeasure tended to be his natural expression, and anything warmer than that was... _

Minimus lapsed into silence, taking a long moment to resolve the odd tightness in his throat. “....It’s difficult, being the only one who cares about peace and order on a crew of two-hundred mechs. I- I just- Could you blame me? Rodimus, he- I know he cares but he never responded to my memos.  _ Never _ . I worked so hard every day to keep the ship in working order but when I passed by it was always ‘watch out, here comes Magnus,’ or ‘oh great,  _ he’s _ here’ said in a  _ very _ sarcastic manner, not an earnest one as you would expect, or- or ‘just  _ grin and bear it _ , Magnus!’” Minimus punctuated the rising anger in his voice with a particularly violent gesture. 

“I mean, is it really my fault I sought out the company of the only mech on board who ever really appreciated-” his voice went from a near-shout to a croak as his optics flared. “...-me.”

Minimus covered his mouth and turned away from Dominus. His head hurt. His joints were aching, like the armor had been repaired improperly and was cutting into him, and he was- he didn’t- he knew he couldn’t, he could never, he was just- just remembering wrong, Megatron was-

A small hand on his arm drew him out of his spiral, and he reset his optics to see Dominus, looking up at him with more openfaced compassion than his brother had ever shown him before in his life. “Brother.” He smiled softly. “….You can say it.”

Minimus bit his lip. “I. I-...” 

He could feel something, building in his chest, below both sets of armor. Perhaps… perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to take those layers away.

“I think I loved hi-”

Then a bolt of lightning struck him and he vanished, leaving only a smoking mark behind. 

Dominus, despite only being a projection of a planet-sized euthanasia clinic, sighed. “Dammit.”


	2. stupid sexy megatron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minimus discovers some contraband in an old storage room. (This is where the suggestive themes come in, folks).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For day 2: peace/disorder! So maybe this one doesn't totally fit the theme??? I guess you could say Minimus's thoughts are very _disordered_ after seeing what he finds...
> 
> Also, shoutout to TrebleTwenty's [Winning Hearts and Minds (and Spikes)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16001933/chapters/37336361) for the inspiration! Go read this fic if you haven't already, y'all, it's hilarious.

It wasn’t like Minimus had actively been seeking out the posters. No, he barely remembered their existence. Well, mostly. 

He hadn’t been Magnus back then, when the propaganda boom was in full force. Both Autobots and Decepticons had been launching greater and greater recruitment campaigns each cycle. Minimus’s strongest memory of it had been avoiding those posters like the plague. To see such high-ranking, honorable Autobot commanders in such- such demeaning positions! It was simply too much! 

At the time, Ultra Magnus had been a loadbearer named Datum, a brave fellow who always tended to be at the front of the charge. He had the same attitude towards the push of recruitment posters as well, it seemed. Minimus hadn’t really thought on it much, at the time. When he took the mantle of Ultra Magnus – that was another story. Everywhere he went, he made it a habit to destroy every single copy of that poster he could find. Why Datum had agreed to make it baffled him. It was a joke, an embarrassment, an insult to the title.

Magnus knew that Rodimus had a collection of these vintage posters, so the first time he was able to, he snuck in to search through them – thankfully, that poster wasn’t included in his captain’s library. He had found only one or two copies during his tenure on the Lost Light, and sent both possessors of the posters to the brig for it. Since then, the subject of posters had faded into memory. 

Now, however, Minimus found he could not avoid that particular topic. Not when it was staring back at him with sparkling red optics. 

  
Megatron gazed lustily out at him from the poster, half-lidded optics looking down at him. The grey mech was squatting, his knees spread wide, forearms resting lightly on his thighs. The angle was low, far too close to his codpiece. Partially in shadow, deep red biolights gleamed along his frame, and his eyes were shining with something almost like cocky satisfaction as he looked down at the camera. It was as if the viewer had been knocked down in a sparring match, and when they had looked up, Megatron had lowered himself to their level – almost like he was checking if they were alright. No hand was outstretched to the camera, however. There was the slightest bit of a smirk on his face, a teasing quirk of the lip that made Minimus’s mouth feel dry. Splashed across the image were the words “Rise Up! Join the Decepticons Today,” which was a standard enough recruitment message, but alongside the hungry look in Megatron’s optics and the sheer dominating energy of the pose, one could extrapolate another meaning. One hand was splayed over his inner thigh, the other on his chin, fingers spread lazily over his mouth. Two of the digits were parted in a slight “V”, and between them, a hint of tongue slipped out between those grey lips... 

Minimus did not know why his engine turned over when he noticed the tongue.

The rumble did jolt him from his frozen state, and he rolled the poster shut with a snap and frantically glanced around the room. His cursory search confirmed that no, no one else had entered the storage room. Thank goodness for that – Minimus blanched to imagine what it would have looked like, to see him ogling a poster of Megatron- 

Wait, no, it was not ogling. He was simply caught off guard, that was all! 

Nevertheless, he now felt nervous just being in here. As much as it pained him to abandon his task of re-organizing this storage room, he had to hide this poster away… for, ah, confiscation purposes, of course. He didn’t want his co-captain – either of them – to see this travesty. Surely Megatron wouldn’t remember this, and if he did he would regret it. At least, that’s how Minimus reassured himself. 

Relatively sure in his decisions, he scurried out of the room –

And immediately ran into someone. 

Blinking at the mech’s legs, he nearly had a spark spasm as his processor registered just how tall they were, oh primus he had run right into the one crew member he had wanted to avoid and he was going to sink into the ground-

“Whoa! You good, Magnus?”

Oh. That wasn’t Megatron.

Minimus looked up to see, indeed, not Megatron, but Roller, who was giving him a lighthearted grin. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I am alright, Roller, thank you for your concern. This incident was partly my fault, but I would caution you to watch where you step in the future.”

Roller rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “Hah, you’re probably right, sorry about that. I was just on my way to- oh wait, you dropped something!” 

It took Minimus two seconds for Roller’s words to click, and two seconds was too late for him to stop him from picking the poster up off the floor. He made a strangled sound and tried to grab for it, but alas, Roller was unfortunately tall enough that all he grasped was air. 

“Hey, what is- Oh. Whoa.”

Minimus imagined himself sinking into the floor. Maybe it was theoretically impossible, but stranger things had happened on the Lost Light, so why not this? Why not this, Universe?!

Of course, the universe didn’t particularly care about preserving Minimus’s dignity. So he just stood there, hiding his bright red face under his hands as he waited for Roller to seal his doom. 

Instead, he heard a wolf whistle. 

“That’s… man, I heard a little bit about the kind of propaganda they rolled out during the war, but I didn’t know they did... This. I just-... Wow.”

Cautiously, Minimus uncovered his eyes. Roller was staring at the poster with wide eyes, but there lay no shock in them; rather, he seemed to be studying it quite appreciatively, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. He kept looking at it for a minute straight before he realized that Minimus was still there. He jumped a bit, his blush turning embarrassed.

“Oh! Uh, sorry-“ he rolled the poster up again (after taking one last look, just to remember it properly), and handed it back to Minimus. 

Minimus snatched it from his hands with a mortified grumble and tucked it away into his subspace, where no one else could accidentally come across it. “If that’s all, I’ll be on my way now.” 

Roller chuckled nervously. “Yeah, of course, sorry again.”

Minimus gave him a curt nod and started scurrying away, but then heard Roller call after him. 

“Don’t feel bad about the poster, though – you’ve got great taste!” 

Minimus died a little bit more inside, and walked faster. He was going to have to burn this before it got him into any more trouble. 

...Maybe tomorrow, though.


	3. lie heavy, remember your love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Functionist Universe, Megatron falls into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Betrayal/Loyalty! This is an older work from tumblr that I thought it'd be good to put on ao3! 
> 
> For context: this is an AU where, after Megatron was left behind in the Functionist Universe, he realizes he's sparked (meaning he's got baby, oh no)....

His sparkchamber lay heavy in his chest. His breathing was soft but deep, vents trying to disperse the cool air through his uncomfortably warm frame. If he truly desired, he could get up and ask if he could move to a colder room, or start up the air conditioning, and they would surely help him. But the very idea of moving and feeling his lower back start up its deep, persistent aching – Megatron let out a soft groan just thinking about it. 

A tiny pulse came from his chest. Megatron rested a hand on it, thumb rubbing slow circles into his plating. He sighed, and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts flitted through his processor, never staying long enough to steady him. Still, exhaustion eventually overtook him and he drifted away into a fitful sleep.

  
  


He awakens to singing. 

Megatron’s frame is hot and sluggish, his vision hazy. There’s a soft, crooning voice, filling the room. It’s so sweet to Megatron’s ears.

_“While I'm alone and blue as can be,_

_Dream a little dream of me..”_

Someone is touching his chest. Megatron struggles to lift his head – it’s so heavy – and look at the mech who sits beside him.

Minimus perches on the edge of the berth, optics dimmed but still the brightest light in the room. Megatron’s breathing hitches, and he croaks, “M-Minimus.”

Minimus turns his gaze on him, and Megatron feels shaken to the core. His expression is serene, admiring, and holds so much love in it that Megatron must fight back tears. Minimus smiles at him. 

“Hello, my love.” 

At his words, Megatron’s spark flares in his chest. He attempts to sit up, but his spark holds him down, and he struggles against it. He wants to touch his lover, pull him close, and never let him go – but his hands weigh so much. He tries to lift them, but his fingers only twitch. Megatron whimpers. “Minimus. Minimus, please.” 

Minimus does not seem to notice his distress. He only presses his hand to Megatron’s chest and says, “Shh. Rest.”

“I’m sorry. Minimus, I’m sorry,” Megatron’s optics spark at the edges. His voice is rough and laced with static, and Megatron does not care enough to try and clear it. He just wants Minimus to stay, to kiss him, to tell him why he left Megatron here with two sparks within him. His chest aches. Did Minimus know, when he left? He couldn’t have. Could he? 

“Minimus, I’m-“ his voice breaks, “-in my chest, I’m-“ 

“Carrying?” Minimus looks at him with a calm expression. His optics are half-lidded, but bemused. They glance to where the autobot brand still lies on his front, where Minimus’s hand rests. “Yes, I see.”

Megatron trembles. His thoughts are too slow. “I’m sorry. I- I’m sorry.” His head lolls to one side, tears building up in his optics. 

Minimus does not seem to hear. He is still studying Megatron’s barely distended chestplates, rubbing the sensitive plating as he hums. “You’re beautiful, like this.” The bot shifts closer, his hip coming up to Megatron’s side. The contact feels like air. “There’s so much life within you,” he says with a small smile. 

There are tears streaking down the side of Megatron’s face. Minimus notes none of them. “They’re going to be amazing. You’ll keep them safe?” 

“Yes- I would give m-my life.” And he would, he would, he would not hesitate for a moment. Minimus seems quietly pleased. Megatron’s mouth is dry, even while steam wafts from his frame. It’s difficult to keep his optics open, but he can’t bear the thought of losing sight of Minimus. 

Speaking of, the minibot lifts his body and lies down on Megatron’s front, stretching out languidly across his frame. The pressure hurts, but Megatron feels blessed by the contact. Reverent, Minimus lays his head on Megatron’s chest, dims his optics for a moment, and smiles. “I can hear them.”

Megatron, who imagines how wondrous it would feel to wrap his arms around his lover, says, “H-how?” 

Minimus looks up at him with glittering optics. “They’re singing.” 

Megatron chokes on a sob. The heat in his chest is overwhelming, it’s like a star has replaced his spark and is melting him from the inside out. He can hear it, the unsteady yet constant warble that suddenly echoes through the room, around his flared plating. 

“Oh,” he says as his optics blur with tears, “oh.”

He is so overcome in that moment that he almost misses how Minimus shuffles forward on his elbows. He does not miss how Minimus gazes down at him with relaxed amusement, and then dips his head to take Megatron’s lips in a kiss that nearly sends Megatron offline. Megatron’s vents gasp, his fans spinning so quickly they’re roaring. 

Minimus is soft with him. He’s at first hesitant – his kiss is more of a brush of the lips than anything, light and delicate. Megatron surprises himself when he whines. His frame is on fire, and Minimus is snowmelt, washing over his blazing spark. He- he wants more. He wants so much more. Minimus draws back for a moment, and their noses brush. His optics flicker up to meet Megatron’s, then look back down to study his half-open mouth. He rubs his thumb over Megatron’s plush lower lip, and Megatron kisses the digit. Minimus smiles. 

Then, he ducks back down and pushes their mouths together insistently. Megatron’s optics flash as Minimus makes little happy noises that slip from his lips whenever they are not locked with Megatron’s. Megatron tries to reciprocate as much as he can, tries to communicate in his touch how deep his love is. He loves Minimus desperately, and it shows in the fat tears that continue to fall from his optics even as Minimus kisses him like they’re conjunx endura. His processor is drowning in a sea of emotion – he cannot think straight. Minimus has closed his optics, but Megatron keeps his open, taking in every breathtaking detail of his partner’s face, committing it to memory. 

When Minimus at last breaks their lips apart, Megatron gasps for breath. He’s suffocating, he’s caught in bliss, he wants Minimus to kiss him again. 

But Minimus has lost his rosy veneer. He pushes himself upright, moving back so he straddles Megatron’s abdomen. His face is not angry, but – disappointed. Megatron feels a cold cloud of confusion drift over him. Minimus reaches out to lightly rest his palm on the autobot brand, tracing it with a finger. 

“You’re going to leave soon,” he says with optics half-lidded. 

Megatron’s optics leak sparks with the intensity of the shock that rolls through him. “N-no, Minimus- I would never!” 

Minimus looks up to him. He holds on his face an expression of judgement – a weighing of his sins. Megatron feels such a sudden and real bolt of fear it sends all the plating on his frame rippling in a wave. His fingers twitch, but otherwise lie dead at his sides. 

“Please, Minimus, I won’t go, I- love you. _Please._ I love you so much.” His words are cut off by sobs. In sharp relief, he feels the tip of the finger tracing across his chest press down. 

Megatron does not hesitate for a moment before he opens his chest to reveal his spark. Green light shines upon Minimus’s face, whose look brightens. 

They shared sparks, once. It was wonderful – breathtaking – shattering – and.. warm. That is what Megatron remembers one of that night. He remembers Minimus’s apprehension being melted away by the glow of Megatron’s sparklight. He remembers Minimus bringing their chests close, and gasping as the coronae of their sparks brushed together. He remembers feeling Minimus’s fear, his doubt, his excitement, and his all-encompassing love. He remembers the warmth of Minimus’s body. 

Now, Minimus does not shift aside the plating of his chest. He reaches inside Megatron – who chokes at the sensation of those hands so close to the core of him – and draws something out. When Megatron’s optics clear themselves of fuzz, they fall upon the smooth grey protoform that lies in Minimus’s arms. 

His vents draw in a sharp intake. Minimus cradles the protoform so carefully, his face soft and adoring. Part of Megatron’s processor cries – this is his husband, this is his sparkling’s _father_ – but the other part reels. 

“But- they’re not ready.” His throat is so dry. 

Minimus looks at him, and his optics are not his own anymore. They are red, but they are flat. There is no love in his gaze. “No one is.” 

The room is dark. The sparkling is crying, crying, it has no mouth yet, it’s not ready but it’s gone from his chest and Megatron is empty now. Minimus’s optics are the only light in the room. They fix him in place and Megatron suffocates. 

“I wasn’t.”  
  


Megatron woke up to the sound of rattling. One of his fans had jammed, and now it was grinding against his internals. 

Megatron did not make a note to have it fixed in the morning. He lay still, optics open wide, staring through the ceiling. The room was cooler, now. Perhaps Terminus or Orion had come in to check on him and adjusted the temperature for his comfort. 

A tiny pulse came from his chest. 

Megatron drew in a shuddering breath. It came out a sob. He turned on his side and drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them. Then, he trembled at the ghost of a voice he would never hear.

It murmured into the back of his neck: “Name them after a star, won’t you?”

* * *

Minimus tried to sleep once on the ship. His armor wouldn’t fit into the recharge slab, so he shed it for the time being and hefted himself up, settling down after he got comfortable. Minimus was usually able to get to sleep very quickly; he was as efficient at it as anything else. Yet now, as he lay on his side, he couldn’t get his systems to go quiet. He shifted on the berth, double-checking that the recharge cable was still connected to the back of his head. Perhaps it was the effects of all the events he had gone through previous keeping his systems so alert.

But no, that wasn’t it. As he tried to relax his struts, Minimus felt an odd tickling inside of his spark chamber. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced before, and that worried him. Sitting up and turning away from the door, Minimus parted his chestplates (both sets) to look at his sparkchamber. There didn’t seem to be any abnormalities present, at least visually; though maybe his spark was shining just a bit brighter?

Shaking his head, he closed his chest and lay down once more. He was going to get some rest no matter whether his spark felt strange or not.

_He reaches for something. He is stumbling through fields, a garden, the ruins of a city covered in snow. He remembers snow. It melted on his armor and seeped between his cracks, trickling down to the core of him, making him cold. He is searching through the snow, now._

_There’s a long, high warbling. It’s like birdsong. The snow piles up deep, and his feet sink into it. There, around the bend, through the rubble, over the graveyard. Someone is crying. They sound so close, but muffled, like they have hidden their face in their hands. He needs to find them, kiss them, comfort them. But the snow grows higher._

_He takes a step and falls when there is no crumbling metal beneath his feet. He never hits anything, and then he is crawling. In the tunnels, the warbling is louder. There's a calm blue light that flares and darkens, mixing with the red glow of his biolights._

_Finally, he finds it. The snow crunches under his knees as he takes it in his arms, cradles it close, holds it to his chest and tries not to cry. The ceiling drips from his warmth; he tries to protect it with the arc of his body, but the cold water seeps through him._

_The tunnels grow very dark, and Minimus wails._

Minimus's optics flared violently to life, but he did not move. The air of the cabin felt cool under his armor. He shivered. After a long moment, he breathed out, shook his head, and sat up. There was work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, the way sparklings work in this fic is when two sparks merge, a smaller one can be created and stays inside the sparkchamber of one of the parents, circling their spark like a little planet revolving around a sun! Then, once the sparklet is strong enough, it's removed from their parent's chest and put into a protoform, just like in canon. 
> 
> That's partly why Megs was so freaked out at seeing dream-Minimus holding their protoform, because that's, y'know, physically impossible.


	4. bonding over shared interests (such as small autobots)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minimus and Megatron go on a double-date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For today's prompt: Holidays/Vacations!
> 
> I had fun writing Cyclonus and Megatron's interactions in this! Honestly I think they have the potential to become really good friends – I mean, they can meet for brunch and gush about how much they love their small autobot conjunxes!
> 
> Also, I included a few sneaky references for some specific readers >:)

The disco had  _ not _ been Megatron’s idea. 

When Tailgate had suggested it, Megatron had wrinkled his nose and been prepared to gently decline, but Minimus had cut him off with a shockingly enthusiastic agreement. Megatron had blinked awkwardly, looking to a Cyclonus for what the stoic mech thought of this. Cyclonus, of course, was only smiling softly at his conjunx as Tailgate clutched his hand and excitedly expounded on just how much fun it would be. 

And this was how Megatron was roped into a double date – at a disco, no less. 

An older version of him would find it humiliating, would have probably refused to go entirely. Then again, an older him would have thought he had gone soft, watching his Autobot conjunx dance under the gleaming, multicolored lights of the disco’s dance floor. Tailgate was out there right alongside Minimus, visor flashing with so much giddy energy it made Megatron’s head hurt to watch for too long. 

He blinked at the spots in his vision and turned to his glass of engex, staring intensely at it until they had fully faded away. 

From beside him, he heard a growly chuckle. “A bit too intense for your tastes?” 

Cyclonus was just full of hidden wit, it seemed. Megatron took a sip of his drink, feeling a bit self-conscious, and cleared his throat. “A bit. If I have to be perfectly honest, I had no idea Minimus was so...  _ passionate _ about dancing.” 

Cyclonus raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was well-known he appreciated the finer arts.” 

“Well,” Megatron stumbled as he tried to reconcile with the idea of that being  _ well-known _ , “I knew he liked to sing, but dancing...?” 

He could almost feel the temperature of the booth plummet sharply.

“I hope I am incorrect in thinking I hear some kind of  _ disapproval _ in your voice.” Cyclonus’s voice seemed to have somehow dropped deeper, his optics boring into Megatron’s own. 

Faintly, Megatron remembered a sword plunging into his chest (and a heavy monitor being smashed over his head). He shivered. “No, primus – not at all. I simply-...” 

He turned his gaze back out to the dance floor, where Minimus was executing a move complex enough it boggled Megatron how he could have accomplished it without practice.  _ Had _ he practiced? If so, when? And how had Megatron never noticed? 

“...I find myself surprised that I’ve known him this long, and yet there are parts of him I haven’t even discovered yet. It’s-... humbling.” 

“Yes. And wonderful.” 

Megatron glanced to Cyclonus, who was once again smiling, his skeletal face having softened somehow as he watched his own partner attempt the same move as Minimus and spectacularly fail. “As long as I have known Tailgate, and as much time we have been together, he is his own person. I will never be him, and so I may never truly understand every part of who he is. But if that means every day of the rest of my life is spent learning new things about my conjunx?” He sighed, and his gaze went unfocused as if he was seeing something far-off and beautiful. “Then I will be happy with that.”

Megatron leaned back in his seat as Cyclonus’s words sank in. Idly, he remembered a moment from two weeks ago, when they had been on shore leave on a busy organic planet. The two of them had gone to a market, where all kinds of aliens, both organic and mechanical, were selling a wide variety of foods, tools, clothes, and other wares. It was a bright and lively place, and since no one knew of Megatron and his history, they had been able to walk along in peace, browsing along the stalls as they held hands. 

As Megatron had been studying some otherworldly, iridescent fabric being sold by a pink fairy-like alien, he felt a tug on his arm. 

“Megatron, look, over there!” Minimus’s optics were flashing, and despite his carefully curated aura of calm Megatron could sense his excitement. He was pointing to a stall someways down the street with a blue awning. It seemed to be selling some kind of food, but he wasn’t quite sure. Minimus, however, seemed quite insistent on them investigating, so Megatron started to follow him-

“Forgot something, Gramps?” 

Megatron paused and turned back to the pink fae, who blinked his four eyes at him and smiled, showing off his  _ very _ sharp teeth. He raised a hand and pointed to the cloth Megatron had forgotten he was holding. 

Megatron nervously cleared his throat. “Ah- my apologies. Here,” he dropped some coins (overall more than the fabric was actually worth) and hurried away from the intimidating seller. 

Minimus had actually reached the stall before him, and was busy animatedly talking with the shopkeep. As Megatron approached, he gained a better view of their wares – and his eyebrows raised. 

On the stall lay all kinds of Cybertronian goodies: rust sticks, chrome-alloy cakes, osmium hard candies, and at the center of it all- 

“Energon cubes covered in molten bismuth! How did you manage to get these?”

The alien behind the stall, a round little fellow wearing a woolen orange hat, smiled up at Minimus. “Most of these I get imported, but the bismuth cubes? Made’em myself!” 

The two kept up a lively conversation for some time, and eventually Minimus had bought every single one of the mustachioed alien’s bismuth cubes. Minimus walked away from the stall alongside Megatron with a happy hum, candies stored safely away in his subspace. 

“I didn’t know you liked treats so much,” Megatron mused aloud after a minute.

Abruptly, Minimus’s optics went wide and a faint blush colored his cheeks. “Oh! Well, ah, I don’t indulge in them very often. Ultra Magnus couldn’t really be seen  _ snacking _ , of course...” He sighed and stared at his feet. “Bad for the reputation, you know.”

Megatron softened at his conjunx’s sheepish expression. “Well, there’s no reputation to uphold here.” He leaned down and tilted Minimus’s chin upwards to give him a gentle kiss. “And I for one think you deserve sweet things.” 

Minimus had turned as red as a beet and stuttered out something about him being an insufferable charmer, hiding a small smile behind a hand. Megatron had still caught it, however – and even now, when Minimus’s smiles were less once-in-a-lifetime events and more uncommon surprises, it made his spark spin. 

“If you would like, I could set up a time in between our work shifts when you could enjoy those,” he said in a low voice. 

Minimus, if it was at all possible, turned even redder. “You- stop that, we are in _ public! _ ” He swatted Megatron, though the mirth sparkling in his optics belied his true opinion on that particular proposal.

Megatron just smiled, and made a note to amend their schedules later. 

Back in the present, Megatron realized he had been silent for quite a good time. 

The conversation completely dried up, he and Cyclonus both glanced around for something to look at besides each other.  A minute passed like this. To evoke the words of his co-captain, it was “more awkward than when I told Optimus his ex had a thing for Magnus and he just stared at me like I had spit on his grave and turned Decepticon.” 

Megatron coughed. 

Cyclonus drummed his fingers on the table with a rhythmic  _ clacking _ . He cleared his throat (not a pleasant sound). “...I apologize for. Trying to kill you.” 

Megatron blinked at him. 

Cyclonus stared back, and after a few moments, continued, “....I stabbed you? It was- you were lashing out against Tailgate, so I stabbed you and then struck you with that berth monitor-“

“No, no, I know, I remember that,” Megatron raised a hand in assurance. He quashed down the headache threatening to rise at the memory of it. “I just-... you apologize?”

Cyclonus raised an eyebrow. “I  _ am _ able to take responsibility for my actions and learn from them to become a better person. I would think you of all people would know this.” 

“No, no, that’s not what I-“ Megaton grimaced, “What I mean- I didn’t think you had much to apologize for.” 

Cyclonus looked confused, so he kept going. “You were protecting the one you loved. I was terrified, lashing out as you said – I could have hurt him grievously. You were just keeping him from harm by any means possible.” 

He turned his gaze out to the dance floor again, taking in how Minimus glittered and shone under the dancing lights. He was smiling – actually  _ smiling _ as he and Tailgate whirled about. Then, he met Megatron’s gaze, and the grey mech felt his spark melt under the full force of his conjunx’s joy. 

“I would have done the same,” he murmured. 

Cyclonus only hummed, but Megatron somehow knew exactly what he was saying. 

“Also, no hard feelings.” Megatron grinned into his drink. “Everyone I’ve ever known has tried to kill me, so I’ve learned not to take it personally.” 

Cyclonus just threw his head back and laughed.


	5. letting him in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron finds himself-.... vulnerable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For, of course, Day 5: Intimacy/Vulnerability!
> 
> I had fun writing this one :)

Megatron was in a  _ terrible _ mood. 

As usual, it was because of this accursed ship Optimus had put him on – damn him, that old fool probably had known exactly what he would be getting into. Probably had himself a nice, long laugh after the ship had taken off, the slagheaded bastard. 

Alright, so maybe he was overreacting just a little bit. The  _ Lost Light _ practically ran on accidents, happenstance, and the very concept of the word “shenanigans.” They couldn’t go a month without something ridiculous happening. Sometimes he felt like the whole ship was under some kind of contract requirement to periodically become entertaining. 

To be truthful, Megatron didn’t always hate this. Sometimes the ordeals left him exasperated, but ended well for all parties involved, such as the incident with the strange goat-snake creature that had popped onboard and demanded they pledge their fealty to a small purple horse, who had been quite cross with the being (but got along exceptionally well with Minimus, especially on the subject of reports). There were times where there had been side benefits that left him a bit more forgiving of the perpetrators (perhaps he occasionally fed the capybaras living in the vents, but no one besides Skids needed to know about that). 

And then there were the events that strung him out to his last grain of patience and had him wishing he had just gone and chosen death back on Luna 2. But even then – even after those hell of a days that had him grinding his teeth in restrained frustration – there were silver linings. 

After all was said and done, debris cleaned up, crew accounted for, visitors sent back to their home dimensions, Megatron would go to Minimus’s office and they would do paperwork. Side-by-side, sometimes in total silence, sometimes listening to Minimus’s music, they would file reports, write memos, and calm down with busywork after a long and stressful day. 

It was... comfortable. 

And comfortable was something this  _ damned _ ship just didn’t want him to have, it seemed. This time – oh, this time, the Lost Light’s curse chose  _ him _ to center around, and wasn’t that just perfect.

It had happened because bots were ignoring Minimus’s rules, of course. Megatron had been talking with Ratchet outside of the medbay about a recent head injury he had sustained in a battle against some Nikonians who had tried to kidnap Brainstorm (the bot in question had been quite flattered about it, of course). 

“Listen, I understand you don’t like people poking around your head-“

“You’re right, I do not.” Megatron inched another step away from the irritated doctor, but Ratchet simply followed him. 

“Hey, don’t interrupt me! As I was saying, I get it, but you can’t just up and walk out of the medbay in the middle of an assessment. Look at that crack, it’s about to split the whole helmet open!” 

He gestured to the fracture jutting up from over Megatron’s optic. It was an ugly crack in his helmet, worryingly large at its opening and deceptively long as it thinned out until it was barely noticeable. Perhaps it was that which made Megatron scoff at Ratchet’s warning. “Please. I survived having a building dropped on me in gun mode, I think I can survive a little crack in my helmet. If it somehow gets worse, I can seal it myself.” 

Ratchet scowled. “Tch, seal it yourself  _ my a- _ “

A shout came from just down the hallway, along with a crash of metal against a wall. Both Megatron and Ratchet turned, Megatron already grimacing at the prospect of having to sort out some altercation. Ratchet, however, cringed and held his arms up to protect his face. “Dammit, not a third time-“ 

Megatron glanced back at him and started to ask, “What the frag are you-“ 

And then Tailgate rammed straight into him. 

Now, many scientists throughout history have wondered what would happen if an unstoppable force met an immovable object. While this is a purely theoretical query, it is still an interesting scenario to analyze (or in the cases of scientists who just  _ love _ to experiment with impossible things, attempt to make possible). Throughout the Great War, Megatron was certainly thought of as an immovable object: determined, ruthless, refusing to give an inch to the efforts of the Autobots, even if it meant going to terrible lengths. He was a pillar, a rock, a mountain; nothing could touch him. 

Of course, that was all stupid, and Megatron was really just a stubborn old man. Seeing as Tailgate’s impact sent him flying headfirst into the doorframe of the medbay, it would also have been safe to say he was less than immovable. 

It took Ratchet a second for him to open his eyes and realize he  _ hadn’t _ been hit this time. “...Oh thank primus,” he muttered under his breath, quietly enough that Drift wouldn’t somehow hear him with his freaky 6th sense and come tease him about it. “Tailgate, I thought Magnus had confiscated that!” 

The minibot in question was sitting on the floor, rubbing his head. “Oh yeah, he did! I got it back by telling him I just wanted to clean it – he was totally fine with giving it to me then!” 

Ratchet sighed. “You should feel lucky you didn’t hit me this time, otherwise I woulda-“

“Wait!” Tailgate interrupted, his visor flashing. “Is- uh- is Megatron-... are those... normal?” 

Ratchet’s optics went wide as he realized the distinct absence of the co-captain standing beside him. He whirled around with an, “Ah shit-“ and stopped. 

Megatron groaned as he pushed himself up, optics fritzing with static. 

There was a small sound of metal shifting, and then- 

Two  _ clunks _ as the pieces of his helmet hit the ground. 

It took Megatron a long moment as he rebooted his optics before he could see Ratchet and Tailgate staring at him. “What are you gawking at?” He grumbled, and then winced at a sudden spike of soreness in his head. 

“How nice of an Auto- of a medic to help me up after I’ve fallen.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position, then raised a hand to rub his aching head. “What wonderful bedside ma-“ 

And then he touched something he did  _ not _ expect to. Instead of the familiar squareness of his helmet, his fingers met the thin plates of a crest. It fluttered at the contact, stretching out slowly in the open air. 

Megatron’s throat went dry. He met Ratchet and Tailgate’s stares once again with a look like a cornered animal. 

A few seconds passed in frozen silence. Megatron’s crests – so stiff from being locked up under his helmet for so long, gently rose, letting all see the yellow marks curving across them. They were like- like a flower, blooming. 

Then, Megatron was on his feet. “Look  _ away _ , dammit!” 

Tailgate flinched, babbling, “Oh- oh my primus, I’m sorry, is this a private thing? I’m sorry I stared at it for so long, I mean it’s really- they’re really pretty so can you blame me but if they’re a private thing then you probably can, and I’m just kinda digging myself into a hole here huh-“

“Shut up!” Megatron put his hands over the crests, trying in vain to push them down even as he winced from the pain of it. “Look away! Just-  _ look away! _ ” 

Optics flashing in panic, he ran. 

Ratchet, despite his co-captain’s commands, watched him go. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well.” He turned to Tailgate with an accusatory glare. “I hope we’ve learned the consequences of hoverboarding in the hallways. You’re going to be coming with me to explain to Magnus why his co-captain is holing himself up in his habsuite.” 

Tailgate gulped. 

  
  


Minimus wasn’t having a great day. 

Dealing with the aftermath of one of the Lost Light’s “adventures” always tended to give him a headache – and the only cure that ever worked for him was sitting down with a tall stack of paperwork. 

However, this time his primary partner in both cleaning up and cooling down had gone to the medbay for an assessment from Ratchet. Megatron had insisted he was fine, though Minimus found the crack in his helmet very worrying indeed. How could he not be concerned about his co-captain losing the only shielding between the world and his fragile brain module? He had tried to express this in words – but as so many of his efforts in that area, he had tripped and stumbled over his intention. 

Megatron had only sighed and given him an oddly soft, reassuring smile. “Minimus. I’ve suffered worse. I can handle it.” 

Minimus, whose spark had done a funny little flip that made him a tad disquieted about his own health, had reluctantly accepted his assurance. 

Ratchet had not, pulling his authority as CMO to drag Megatron to the medbay for a check-up (and Minimus privately relaxed a bit in relief). 

However, he was now getting a report from Ratchet that was making his frame get stiffer by the second. He wished he had worn the Magnus armor today – he was unused to covering up his expressions on his own face, so his grimace conveyed the exact amount of disappointment he was feeling at the moment. 

Tailgate looked like he was about to cry. “I didn’t know he was hurt! If I had I would’ve steered for Ratchet instead!” 

“Wh-  _ hey!”  _

Minimus stood up and slammed his hands on the desk. While the effect wasn’t quite as great due to the fact that he was standing on his chair, it still brought their attention to him. “Alright. Before adequate punishment is meted out,” he sent a  _ look _ at Tailgate, who was intently studying the dents on his hoverboard, “it would probably be wise to make sure Megatron is not in too much... emotional distress.” He internally winced at his own wording. 

“Ratchet, you collected the pieces of his helmet, correct?” 

Ratchet nodded. “Left them with Velocity – already scanning the design so a replacement can be made.” 

Minimus was pleased to see  _ someone _ else on this ship had the sense to plan ahead. He tried to give Ratchet an appreciative look, but the medic only raised an eyebrow at him. 

Minimus coughed awkwardly. Well. He’d have to work on that. “Right then.” He hopped down from his chair and went to the door. “I will go check on Megatron. Tailgate, I expect you to wait here until I return.” 

Tailgate, who was surreptitiously inching towards the door himself, hung his head with an, “aww man...”

  
  
  


Minimus stared up at the door marked ‘113.’ He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so nervous – he had been in Megatron’s habsuite a few times before, and not just for the occasional inspections. Really, he had no reason for anxiety. He knocked on the door twice and waited, folding his arms behind his back. 

No answer. 

Minimus frowned. He knocked again. 

This time, he heard a muffled voice from behind the metal. He brought his ear to the door, hearing a faint  _ clunk _ , and… footsteps?

“...Megatron? It’s Ultra Magnus. Is… everything alright?”

Silence.

Minimus was about to leave when the door slid open halfway, and Megatron’s voice came out of the dark room. “Come in. Just-... be quick about it, please.”

Minimus glanced down the hallway – no one around – took a deep breath, and entered. 

  
  
  


Megatron was sure he was making a bad decision. 

He was under no obligation here to let  _ anyone _ into his habsuite, much less see him like  _ this _ . When the knock came, he had been committed to letting it go unanswered. Yes, maybe he was being a bit childish about this – he could just imagine Starscream taunting him for acting like an insecure human adolescent, and primus, thinking about Starscream was just putting him in a worse mood.

But when Minimus’s patient voice came muffled through the door, something in him weakened. 

See, the past few months Minimus had been attempting to spend time outside the Magnus armor – something Megatron personally approved of. Unfortunately, this meant he could not always reach things he had been able to before with such a height disadvantage against him. As such, whenever he and Minimus were working in one of their offices and Minimus needed to reach something, Megatron would simply pick him up around the waist and raise him until he could reach the desired object. He didn’t especially dwell on it, or wonder why Minimus never just got a stepping stool – it was a part of their system, just one of the ways they worked so well together.

That, and a stepping stool would probably just clutter things up; Minimus liked to keep his floor space very organized, after all. 

This contentment he held came into question a week or so ago, when on bridge duty, he had spotted Minimus on one of the upper decks, trying to reach a button that was high up on the wall. He was trying to cover up how hard he was straining, but Megatron saw and immediately felt the instinctive need to go assist him. 

However, someone else seemed to have felt the same – Nautica had appeared before Megatron could even rise from his seat and cheerily said, “Oh hey, let me help!” Then, she put her hands on Minimus’s middle and lifted him up quite effortlessly. 

But instead of graciously thanking her for her assistance, Minimus turned a bright red and bit out, “What- put me  _ down! _ ”

Nautica, blinking in bewilderment, set him down immediately upon which he turned to her with a furiously embarrassed face. “ _ I don’t. Like. Being. Handled!” _

With that, he stormed off the bridge with all the malice a mustached minibot could muster. 

He didn’t like... being handled? 

The thought had plagued Megatron through the rest of his shift, thoroughly distracting him from his duties. 

Now, hiding in his habsuite with Minimus knocking at the door, Megatron found himself facing a few realizations: Minimus didn’t like being handled. Frankly, he hated it. 

But he never once objected to Megatron, er, handling him. Sometimes he almost seemed to... like it. 

This led to a logical (Shockwave, damn him, had rubbed off on him a bit over four million years), objective conclusion: Minimus trusted him with this.

And Megatron wasn’t sure how to handle that. 

He raised a hand to gently touch his crests where they were flared out from his head. If Minimus had allowed him with one thing he let no one else do... Well. It would be unfair of him not to return the favor, yes? 

He took a shaky breath, and opened the door to let Minimus in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually intended to make this one longer, since, you know, Minimus doesn't actually see Megatron's crests, but I didn't have the time fdhgfdgfd
> 
> so uhhh maybe expect a continuation??????
> 
> also shoutout to nikoooooooo for making [this edit](https://twitter.com/seaquestions/status/1294476872701612034) for when i was still figuring out how megs's helmet was gonna get cracked. sowwy i couldn't bring such a stunning edit to life :(


	6. someone familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WFC Magnus dies by the hand of one he might have loved, a long time ago. He deserves a second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: AU/FU!!!! This au was a collaborative effort made after us magnus stans decided that WFC Megatron was a shitty boyfriend and WFC Magnus deserved someone better >:(

Magnus remembers pain. He remembers rain, and heat gathering in a circle on his chest, and a blinding blast of light in every color, and then terrible emptiness.

Vague, sickly pink seeps through the cold. Everything is numb and unfeeling, because he’s not quite awake, is he? He’s certainly not consciously having any of these thoughts, because he’s- well. He can’t really grasp _that_ either, now can he. 

It’s like he’s asleep, the kind where there are lights and sounds dancing at the edge of his mind and he knows instinctively that if he could just turn to them he could acknowledge that they’re there, but he _can’t._ He’s so tired. He’s sleeping, frozen, so weary of a world that’s taken the hope from his bleeding spark and crushed it under its heel. 

He’s like that for a long time. 

Time goes on. Cybertron changes. 

The Decepticons leave, and the war, which has already taken one planet into its jaws, stretches out beyond the atmosphere, hungry for more. Those who are left behind see it go with dim optics that barely reflect the plumes of sickly exhaust soaring into the sky.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful, if they could just leave, too? Cybertron is their home, but it’s so hard to take care of your home when no one will take care of you. 

Miraculously, no one comes across the blue-and-white corpse that is left outside of the Decepticon base. Maybe a few scavengers see it, but the eerie pink veins that crisscross over its plating fill their sparks with uneasiness, and they wisely choose to leave it alone. 

Miraculously, a huge ship with bright red quills of fuel appears over the skies of this dead planet. 

Miraculously, a curious scientist finds the corpse, and in an opposite reaction from those worried scavengers, he finds it _very_ interesting and decides to take it with him. 

And then he decides it might be fun to try something impossible. 

* * *

Magnus woke up again. 

The first thing to come back was a high, frantic beeping sound that felt almost like it had always been there. Then came the clattering, the frenzied clacking of keys being pressed in rapid succession, and below it all, the voices. 

“Oh my god oh my god I did it I actually did it of _course_ I did it-“

“Did it?! How can you- I swear, I’m going kiss you after this for accomplishing such a scientific feat and then I’m going to strangle you for doing it without even _testing_ your methods first-“ 

“Hey, it’s not like I could’ve made him any worse! He was a _corpse_! With a fragging pla- Wait, you’ll kiss me?”

“I’ll kill you first if you don’t focus on stabilizing that antivirus program-“

“ _Both of you!”_ (And Magnus – the space where he felt like his spark would be cried out to hear that deep, gravelly voice, because it sounded- it sounded like a memory).

“Stop squabbling and work! Nautica and the medical team are on their way so hopefully I won’t have to- _ngh-_ hold him down for much longer-“

It was then that Ultra Magnus opened his optics. 

For a moment he saw _him_ again, a grey face twisted with rage, the whine of the fusion cannon warming as purple veins of energy gathered an inch from his chest – but the face hovering just above him looked shocked, not angry. Perhaps if his waking was a bit more peaceful, he would have been able to take this in and form an appropriate, well-thought-out response. However, his most basic systems chose that moment to kick in and say: ‘ _oh primus our chest, it hurts it hurts everything hurts we’re dying oh god-_ ‘ 

His secondarily most basic systems decided to helpfully follow after with a quite eloquent: _‘get away run away danger hurt is still here fight run stay alive._ ’

And his motor systems happily responded to such violent pain with an equally violent reaction by throwing the bot off of him. 

The bot hit the floor with a crash, drawing twin shouts of surprise from somewhere behind him. Magnus wasn’t quite in the state to care about that, though, as he lurched up and immediately was hit with a wave of pain. It flowed through his frame like electricity through water and made his limbs feel numb and shaky, but the panic in his systems overrided the agony and he pushed past it to shamble off the metal table, clutching a hand over the hole in his chest. He had to get away from the Decepticons, find Optimus somehow, or Elita, or anyone – he couldn’t go through that torture again, he _couldn’t-_

A hand grabbed his shoulder. “Wait!”

Magnus swung around and tried to strike the Decepticon attempting to stop him, but he underestimated his weakness – just the act of turning made the whole world rock. The broken metal in his chest screamed at the strain, and he swayed dangerously to one side. 

Another hand came to his chest, steadying him. “Wait, please! It’s alright – you’re not in danger. Medical help is coming. I know this must be quite confusing but I assure you, you are safe.” 

The words managed to pierce through the thick fog covering Magnus’s processor, and he rebooted his optics several times until the static had cleared enough for him to see-

Something that couldn’t be true. 

Megatron stood close to him, holding up his battered frame with a gentle hand. His face was scuffed and tarnished – familiar enough – but it held an expression of plainfaced worry. His optics- his optics, gleaming red, weren’t full of the too-familiar hatred Magnus had ached to see in his old friend, but _concern_. Something about that made his knees go weak (though, that could have also been the energon loss). And yet, none of this compared to the shock of what lay at the center of his chest. 

An Autobrand. The exact shape and color of his own faction’s symbol, painted on Megatron’s frame, slightly worn as if it had lay there for quite a long time. 

Magnus couldn’t look away. His mouth hung open as he took in short, shallow breaths, optics shining so bright they seemed white. His spark might just have started sluggishly bleeding hope again.

All sound had lapsed into silence around them. 

Magnus met Megatron’s gaze, taking the hand he had cupped over the hole in his chest and shakily raising it to Megatron’s cheek. Megatron stared at him in an odd moment of pause, caught off guard by the tender look in Magnus’s optics and the sudden, soft touch.

His breath was warm on Magnus’s wrist. A shaky smile spread across his face, and his thumb slowly stroked over his old friend’s cheek. “...Megatron. You’ve changed.”

Megatron didn’t have a second to think of a response before Magnus’s face went slack and his optics dimmed, and he fell limp in his arms. 

  
  
“Wow,” Brainstorm said, “that was kinda gay.”


	7. lesbrarians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONUS CHAPTER!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? An extra for AU/FU????? Whatever could it be??? it's not like it's right in the chapter title or anything....

“Good evening, Miss.” 

Minimus looked up from the book she had been studying to see a tall woman with light grey hair standing in front of her. She wore a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up – probably due to the warm weather they had been having recently. Minimus’s gaze flickered over her bare arms before the woman spoke and her eyes snapped back up to meet hers.

“I was wondering if you could check some books out for me.”

Minimus blinked, looking confused for a moment. Then, she registered the woman’s gentle smile, and seemed to have a small realization. She nodded and put on a polite smile of her own. “Gladly. May I?” The librarian held out an open hand. 

The woman handed her a small stack of books and a movie; their fingers brushed as she did, and Minimus felt a slight blush rise to her cheeks. She tried to push the heat down by studying the books she had been given. On top was a collection of poetry. She hummed appraisingly as she passed it under the reader and the computer gave a happy _blip_. “Good choice – I adore Mary Oliver.”

“I know.” 

Minimus glanced up to catch the grey-haired woman looking at her with such a softness she had to quickly look away or devolve into a blushing mess. She checked out the next book.

“Sappho,” she murmured absentmindedly. 

The woman put a hand on the desk, leaning forward a bit. “You’re familiar with Sappho’s work?”

Minimus smiled back at her, delighting in the mischievous look in her eyes. “Yes, I am.”

Finally, there was the movie. “Legally Blonde? This... doesn’t belong to the library.” Minimus’s tone was almost disappointed, though she seemed to be trying to stay neutral. Then, a hand placed itself over Minimus’s, drawing her attention up to the grey-haired woman. 

“Perhaps that’s because I just bought it this afternoon. I was hoping to watch it with my wife tonight.” 

Minimus gasped. “Megatron, really?”

Megatron smiled wide, letting her facade drop completely. “Of course. I can make lasagna for dinner too, if you’d like.” She set the movie down between them to take her wife’s hand, then leaned over the desk to kiss her forehead. Minimus couldn’t help but laugh.

“That sounds wonderful, Megatron. Thank you.” 

“You’ve been working so hard, I wanted to give you something nice to look forward to.” 

Minimus smiled, then looked behind Megatron. “Well, you’ve certainly accomplished that. You are going to have to move, though. You’re holding up the line.”

Megatron glanced over her shoulder to see several people waiting behind her. One poor college student with a nose ring and blue hair looked close to collapsing under the weight of his stack of textbooks. 

“Ah. My apologies, I’ll be going now.” She grabbed the books to move aside, but before she could leave, Minimus put her hand on Megatron’s shoulder and pulled her in for one more kiss that left her feeling light. 

“I’ll see you tonight, Megatron.”

Megatron left with a smile. She loved going to the library.


	8. ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WFC Megatron is alone.

He isn’t alone.

He can feel it – something, there, right past the back of his neck. Hovering. Unsure. It follows him, but sometimes vanishes entirely before he picks up on it. Like it’s watching him from the back of a crowd, far back, right by the door. It wants to leave, but it’s pausing- waiting for just a few more minutes. 

He spends his meetings glancing at his command staff, searching for the same twitches, the flicker of awareness that steals through their eyes before they close themselves off harshly, grit their teeth. Perhaps he can’t see the signs in someone other than himself. Perhaps he’s getting paranoid.

He keeps whirling around, fusion cannon crackling with violent energy, and every time he only sees the dim shadows lying in the corners of the base. Soundwave is the only one who could possibly be that stealthy, that watchful – and it isn’t him. He knows it isn’t. Soundwave’s gaze is silent and neutral. He could pin him to the ground with the barrel of his cannon and that yellow visor would reveal nothing to him.

But every time he feels it, he feels- cold. There’s a sadness back there, and when it grazes over his plating it leaches into him, seeps like ice between his seams and makes his neck hurt.

He hates it. He hates its gentle cold, its weight on his spark, he hates the way it appears in the room before he even notices and slips away before he can grasp it, and it’s constant, constant silence, longing, disapproving, mourning silence, it fills him with so much rage he wants to reach over his shoulder and strangle him with with bare hands-

....He catches himself. Stops. His anger – so quick to boil up and flood through him like his energon is on fire – falls flat, and for a moment he can barely feel the frozen air slipping around his shoulders. He closes his eyes- tight, so forcefully he sees spirals and stars when he opens them again. Then, he shakes his shoulders (it retreats, knowing it is not wanted) and starts walking towards his office.

Megatron remembers how Alpha Trion told them stories. His was a voice made for them, smooth and deep and melodious, every tale a song one could fall asleep to. Once, he had been telling them about Liege Maximo – it was something about his trickery of a fellow prime, meddling in the affairs of the spark as he usually did. To be truthful, Megatron hadn’t retained much of the myth. Somewhere halfway through, he had dozed off against Magnus’s frankly massive shoulders, and Trion had only noticed his idle snoring after Optimus started trying to poke him awake while Magnus defended him. Primus, they acted like such newsparks back then, it was-

It was-...

Megatron never really listened to those stories. He stares at the cracked datapad in his hand (Optimus had taken the picture of them – grinning in that way you could tell he was smiling behind his mask, Magnus reaching towards the camera to try and grab it away from him while not bothering Megatron, who was still peacefully sleeping away at his side – but Megatron had stolen it from him later to destroy the evidence) and feels his neck aching again.

He freezes – for once, just- just letting it happen. Call it curiosity. 

His shadow seems hesitant. It’s so very patient, something that makes Megatron grit his teeth. Patience or stubbornness – they can be oh-so-similar, that is, until one decides whether they like you or not. He can be patient. Yes...

The cold comes again, stronger. It slips over his shoulder and around his neck, and drifts downwards- Megatron clenches his fist as it strays too close to his spark. 

It stops.

It goes up, instead.

It curves around the underside of his jaw and Megatron is careful not to tighten up. It feels like rain, trickling upwards. It’s lacking its normal acidic bite.

Instead, it’s just cold.

Still, it is gentle, cupping his cheek. It has no physical sway over him, but he turns his head to the side, cants his chin up the slightest bit, opens himself up as his spark twists and burns within his casing. He can feel it behind his eyes. 

Then. Trailing up the exposed cables of his neck like hot energon, pressure and shape so slight but stark against the cold that passed over but a second ago, and Megatron realizes faintly what it feels like. He hates himself for it – he gasps, softly. 

Warmth breathes itself over his lips and into his mouth, and he’s set alight. 

  
  


“Get-“ he jerks around and throws the datapad across the room, “ _away!”_

It hits the far wall with a _crack_ and falls with a _crunch_ of broken glass. Megatron sees red electricity behind his eyelids. He screams and swings his fist at nothing, the fusion cannon on his arm wailing with power. 

He could destroy it all, he knows. Vaporize the datapad, the walls, this entire room. 

“Haven’t you had enough?!” He shouts at the air around him, the heat inside of him. “Haven’t you learned?! You achieved nothing- you won _nothing_! I’ll find them- I’ll crush them into rust,” he hisses, “and Cybertron will live again.” 

His lungs are burning. “And _no one_ ,” he spits, like nausea welling up at the back of his throat, “will remember the Autobots.”

He’s panting now. His fists are shaking, so tightly curled he can’t make them loose. He has a smile, or a grimace, on his face, but his lips are burning and he’s not entirely sure he could control them if he tried. 

  
  


He’s alone.

Megatron stands there breathing hard for a few minutes before he wheels around and smashes his desk in two without a sound. Then, he crumples to the floor, trembling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Free Prompt! GHOST AU BABEYYYYYYYY
> 
> That's the last day of Minimegs Week! Thank you to everyone for reading this fic, and thank you to everyone who made content of these two nerds :)


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